My heart races as I slow my pace. To hide my fear, I smile sheepishly at the twenty-something group of males.

"Is everything okay?" asks one guy.

"I can't seem to find where I parked my car, and it's creepy down here. Would you mind staying with me until I find it?" I attempt to look as vulnerable as possible. Less to explain this way.

I'm not above playing the helpless-female card if it means I make it out of this garage alive. Priorities first, dignity will have to take a backseat.

They visibly relax with my response while exchanging knowing glances.

One guy raises an eyebrow at me as if he's not buying my helpless routine. I drop his gaze when he speaks. "No problem. I'm Chad, and this is Lee, Brad, and Greg." He points to each one in turn. 

Chad has a warm, friendly smile, and I like him instantly. Even when he continues to study openly study me. 

Each guy steps forward to shake my hand. I don't see such manors from most college-age men these days, but I like it. 

Chad and Greg make small-talk while we search for my car. After a couple of minutes, I learn that they attend college and play together in a band. The band performs at several bars near the university. Can't say I've seen them play, but I've heard of them.

"You should come hear us play. We're not half bad."

Chad does not lack in confidence. Each time I catch him watching me, he gives me a charming grin that makes no apologies for staring. I get the impression he's flirting with me.

"I will for sure. I live close to the university," I say.

"Can I have your number? I'd like to give you a call sometime," Chad asks. I've got to love college guys. They never waste time or opportunities.

Chad's undeniably attractive and quite charming, but I think he's a bit young for me. At twenty-six, I'm not interested in dating an undergrad. Even if he has a great smile, dimples, and dreamy brown eyes...hmmm.

Not. Happening. Sam.

Before I get into trouble, I let him down gently. "I'm seeing someone," I lie.

Lying is not something I do easily, but it has its place and time. It's part of the Girls' Handbook of Gentle Rejection. He doesn't need to know I might be too old for him, but unavailable will do nicely.

"My loss. Let me know if things change." He smiles and hands me a business card with the band's information on it.

I take the card and read it. Blue Luna is the band name. Their logo is a blue moon with the profile of a wolf in the middle. It's a cool design. I'm guessing Chad hands these out like candy.

Excited conversation erupts when we finally find my car. It's a red '67 Mustang. And it is beautiful. It originally belonged to my dad. He lovingly restored it when I was in high school. My mom would tease him and say that he loved this car more than her. Everyone knew that wasn't true, but she liked to give him a hard time. So now it's mine.

My parents have been gone for almost six years now. Driving Dad's car gives me the feeling that he's still close. Sometimes I think I get a whiff of his aftershave, but I know it can't be.

"You guys saved me tonight," I say, then blow a kiss as I drive away. They think I exagerate, but I think they really may have saved my life. At the very least, they spared me a few unwanted bruises, if Blue Eyes got his hands on me.

***

I arrive at my building a little before ten, and thankfully find a parking spot on the street. After the night I've had, parking in the garage is out of the question. A cool breeze blows my hair across my face as I walk swiftly toward my building. The sparse streetlights give me a false sense of security but I'll take that over another dark parking garage.

Waving a quick hello to Harold, our gray-haired building manager, I quickly make my way to the elevator. Normally I take the stairs, but not tonight. I want to be behind the safety of my appartment door so badly. It's like I can't shake the feeling of danger that envelope me earlier this evening.

I fumble with the keys to unlock my door, but once I'm safely in my fourth floor condo, I turn the bolt to lock the door. No sooner than I hear the satifying click of the lock turning,  I let out a long, slow breath that feels like I've been holding it ever since I snapped that first and only picture. Mental and physical stress leaves me feeling spent, but my small home feels warm, inviting and safe.

Kicking off my shoes as I walk through the wide entry hall, I head right to my patio doors. I open the doors wide and feel the cool breeze blowing. This prompts me to turn on the gas fireplace. I only open the doors for the excuse to use the fireplace. Otherwise, in Phoenix, it's merely decoraton.

It's so good to be home.

I'm still concerned about the redhead, Rebecca. I pick up the phone and call the number I have for her.

If she turns up in a dumpster somewhere, I'll never forgive myself.

A sleepy female voice answers on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

I'm surprised when she answers. I clear my throat and turn on a cheery sales voice. "I'm trying to reach Rebecca Tanner. Is she available?"

"This is Rebecca. Who is this?" she says irritably.

It's all I can do not to laugh out loud with relief that she's alive.

"This is Samantha from World of Encyclopedia, and..." Click! The line is silent.

Works. Every. Time.

So, I did overreact. Strange, I thought Rebecca's evening was heading in an entirely different direction considering all that action happening in the garage earlier. I'm also amazed she had time to get home, removed makeup, change into PJs and pass out before I barely arrive home.

My cat Wilbur circles my legs, rubbing himself against me until I scratch him behind the ears and feed him. This is our little routine.

After pouring myself a glass of red wine, I sit at the kitchen table, tuck my legs under me and open my laptop. I begin typing out all the pertinent details I can remember from my botched surveillance job, but I can't stop thinking about the way Blue Eyes looked at me in the garage. The memory of his gaze causes my stomach to flip. What would have happened if he reached me, I wonder.

Observations:

Blue Eyes (most distinguishable characteristic)

Short dark hair...nice hair

Broad chiseled face w/ five o'clock shadow

Would be incredibly handsome, if not for the homicidal glare and general bad attitude.

Nice dresser--high dollar threads all the way.

About 6'4" or 5", 220 pounds?

Could be late twenties to late thirties?

Athletic build

He must be an athlete by the way he hauled ass over to greet me.

Questions:

1. Who is Blue Eyes?

2. How does Rebecca know him, and how are they involved?

I think I know the answer to that one.

3. Has Rebecca broken things off with my client's husband?

If that's the case, then I'm not making much on this job.

Leaning back in my chair, the events of the evening run through my head. Somehow, I'd screwed up. I've been in this line of work for five years. I'm pretty good at what I do, but tonight was an epic failure by the lowest of standards.

I was hired by my client to gather proof that her bottom-feeder-CEO husband is seeing another woman. A woman scorned...equals work for me.

It's obvious that he's been meeting Ms. Tanner regularly, and I'm ninety-nine percent certain they're having intimate relations. I've learned never to leave anything to chance, but that lesson came at a high price.

In short summary, I was badly burned early in my career by jumping to the wrong conclusion when I followed a subject to a luxury hotel where he met with a pretty, young brunette. They proceeded to go into a hotel room for roughly an hour. My client suspected her husband was having an affair. He had lied to her several times when he said he was at the office, but wasn't. In my youth and haste, it appeared to be a slam-dunk—easy money.

Handing over photos of the subject entering the room with what turned out to be their twenty-four-year-old daughter wasn't even the worst of it. The father and daughter were meeting to plan a surprise party for my client's fiftieth birthday, to be held at that particular venue. Easy to guess how that played out. That mistake almost ended my career before it began. Lesson learned. I no longer leave stones unturned.

My stomach growls loud enough to make Wilbur lift his lazy head and look at me. Grabbing the leftover orange chicken from the fridge, I plop down on the couch and call my friend Dayna. She picks up on the first ring.

"What time tomorrow?" I ask around a mouthful of chicken.

"Hello to you too. I'm good for the eight o'clock class. Want to get coffee before or after?"

"Gym first, feed our caffeine addiction after. How was your event?" I ask.

I'm holding the phone with my shoulder, still rudely talking around a mouthfull of leftovers.

"Mostly boring, although I did meet Josh Hutcherson! He's staying at our hotel. He's not that tall in person, but I got a hug and a kiss. Oh, and a picture. Just another exhausting day rubbing elbows with celebrities. How was your thing?"

Dayna's a sales manager for a resort in Scottsdale, and much of her business revolves around big corporate events, marketing trips around the western half of the states, and entertaining clients to win over their business.

"I guess you could say it was interesting," I say. 

Dayna's also one of only two people who know what I really do for a living. To keep my clients' confidentiality, and for my own personal safety, I tell people that I do telemarketing for fitness equipment. It sounds so ridiculously boring that nobody ever bothers to ask me about work. It's the perfect cover. 

She also knew I was doing surveillance tonight. She keeps tabs on me, like a mother.

I hide behind the name Samantha Chase, which is simply a limited liability company and a P.O. box that's difficult to trace. Samantha Lewis, my real name, sells fitness equipment and is in no way connected to any of my cases.

"Interesting can be good."

"Honestly, I messed up. This job may have blown up on me. I'll know more tomorrow," I say, feeling a bit defeated. I set the empty container on the coffee table and pull a blanket around me while I wait for her response.

She's silent for a long moment, then suddenly explodes. "Are you freakin' serious? They saw you? What did they do? What did you do? Did they confront you? This hasn't ever happened before! Are you okay? Talk to me!" she says, excitedly.

I laugh out loud at her concern and enthusiasm.

"Slow down! Yes, I'm serious. The guy tried to confront me but I got away before he could make a scene. I'm hoping my cover wasn't blown. It's going to be difficult to follow my target if she spotted me. I'm fine. Just shook me up a bit. I overreacted . . . somewhat."

Again, silence.

"You overreacted? The Sam I know is a cool bean. She never overreacts. Are you sure you're okay? Want me to come over?" she asks, all traces of humor gone.

"I'm fine. Thanks for offering, but I'm good. I'm going to call it a night. See you at the gym."

She says good-bye and I end the call. I turn on the TV and sip my wine. My favorite red table wine has a naughty name, and I feel scandalous drinking it. Even though I'm far from the scandalous type. By the end of my glass, some of the tension starts to leave my body.

As I try to focus on the TV, a reporter is halfway through a story about a body found in a Scottsdale neighborhood that I know to be about a mile from the mall I was at earlier. I'm relieved it wasn't Rebecca.

Phoenix is the fifth-largest city in the US, which means murder in the news isn't that rare or shocking--sad as that may be. Because of our close proximity to Mexico and the drug cartels, we are also the "Kidnapping Capital of America." At least we have the Grand Canyon, great weather, and all the outdoor sports and activities you could want. Snowbirds love us.

I click off the TV and walk to the balcony to close the doors. It's November, and finally the weather is cooling off a bit. It's actually cold at night. In Arizona, we look forward to the two or three months a year when we can wear something other than tank tops and flip-flops. That look becomes old after eight or nine months.

Wilbur is curled up on a deck chair, so I bring him inside before closing and locking the doors. On the way to my room, I turn off the fireplace, leaving a trail of clothing in my wake as I make my way into the shower.

Warm water washes away the last of the tension from my stressful evening. Minutes pass as I stand under the warm flow of the shower. When the tempature of the water begins to cool, I get out and finish my bedtime routine.

My last thoughts are of flaming blue eyes as my head sinks into the pillow, and my eyes flutter shut.